


Name-Father

by Dernhelm



Series: Chronicle of Scars [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Friendship, Love, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dernhelm/pseuds/Dernhelm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a day of celebration in Gondor, as the newborn heir to the throne has received his name. All rejoice...except one who should be the most glad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name-Father

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Chronicle of Scars series. Takes place roughly a year after the end of [Cuts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160407). Written in January 2011, originally intended to be part of a longer work, but I thought it worked well on its own as a short.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Aragorn joined Faramir at the edge of the Citadel's fountain courtyard, taking in the magnificent view of Minas Tirith at twilight. The sun had just set beyond the horizon, casting radiant, warm light upon the bottoms of the purple clouds. A beautiful end to a beautiful day.

“Shouldn’t you be inside, you Majesty?” Faramir's quiet voice carried on the breeze, unreadable as his expression.

“I will rejoin them soon enough.” The sounds of music and merriment drifted from the main hall as Gondor’s nobility celebrated the naming-day of the King’s heir. “How does it feel to be a name-father?”

Aragorn wished that he could take Faramir’s hand in his, press his lips to the lightly calloused knuckles. But Faramir had made it clear that while they were amid the bustle of the court, they were to be no more than King and Steward, and friends at best. So Aragorn restrained himself, trying to content himself with merely being alone in Faramir’s presence again.

“I am deeply honored, Elessar--” Faramir bowed his head slightly, a thin, polite smile touching his lips, “--that you have chosen me to be name-father to the heir.”

Aragorn’s brow furrowed. True, they were amid the court. But they were well out of earshot of any who would hear them, even the fountain guards who watched over the blossoming White Tree. There was no need for Faramir to be so formal…which meant he was hiding his feelings again. He always used decorum to hide his emotions when they were at their most turbulent.

“You know you are more to my son than simply a name-father,” Aragorn said softly, hoping to lure Faramir out of his shell, “you are truly his second father. Both Arwen and I agreed.”

Faramir nodded again, and Aragorn noted the tightening in his lips.

“Does this not please you?” Aragorn asked, cautiously.

“It pleases me greatly, my king.” He used the title as endearment, his voice softening. It made Aragorn’s heartbeat quicken to see the glimpse of his prince, his beloved, and it comforted him a bit. “Truly, I am…elated that you have placed such trust in me.”

“Then why are you hiding out here, when you should be celebrating with us?” Aragorn asked gently. “Even King Eomer, your brother-in-law, says you have barely spoken…” Aragorn trailed off as the color drained from Faramir’s face, and suddenly he understood.

A year now had passed since Eowyn had left Faramir, riding into an unknown future in search of her long-lost lady-love. She had not been seen nor heard from since. Though Faramir had healed from the initial blow to his heart, he still nursed deep bruising upon his soul. To see his beloved so happy in his marriage--and to see him finally have that which Faramir would never himself have--must be like salt in a wound to Faramir.

“Forgive me.” Aragorn said, his own face coloring. “I should have realized--”

“You have no need to apologize, Aragorn.” Faramir murmured, his voice strained. “This is my burden to bear.”

Aragorn placed a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, wishing to pull him into his arms. “Let me try to help you bear this burden, as I have so many others.”

Faramir’s body responded, and Aragorn could feel how he fought himself so as not to fall into Aragorn’s embrace. Instead, he met Aragorn’s eyes, and the king sucked in his breath to see the bright agony shining from the darkening blue.

“Can you give me an heir, Aragorn?” Faramir asked simply. “Can you ensure that the line of Hurin, which has survived for fourteen centuries, does not die with me?”

 “No.” He said simply, his heart aching for Faramir.

“Then you cannot help me.” Faramir turned away, and took a step forward. Aragorn’s hand slid from his shoulder, leaving him to stand alone against the coming night.

Aragorn thought for a long moment. “Perhaps…perhaps if you remarry…”

Faramir shook his head. “Eowyn is my wife, as long as she lives.”

Aragorn did not ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue. If Eowyn was indeed lost to them, then Faramir would be a widower, and within his every right to remarry. But as long as he lived with the uncertainty, he would never let himself forget her, or his loyalty to his marital vows.

“You know the Lady of Lorien took the ship to the Undying Lands. Three years ago.” Aragorn said, cautiously.

“Yes. And I know Eowyn was planning on following her there.”

Aragorn swallowed hard. "You know that no ship will bear her? Mortal or Elven.”

“I know.” Faramir said quietly.

“So you knew that she would fail when you let her go?” Aragorn asked, his brows knitting in confusion.

“Yes.”

“Faramir…why…why didn’t you try to pers--”

“Persuade my wife not to leave me?” Faramir’s words harshened, his head whipping to face his friend. “Beg her not to go, when it was obvious it was what she desired with all her heart?” Faramir's jaw clenched and his hand tightening into a fist. “Aragorn, she was haunted by dreams of her! I would hold her in my arms as she wept, calling her name in her sleep!” His fingers loosened, and he rubbed them across his jaw. “No, my king. There was no persuading her. For I was not what she wanted.”

Aragorn burned with remorse. He had meant only to comfort his beloved, but instead had brought him more grief. He did not know what to do. He could not kiss him, could not embrace him, could not find any words to soothe him.

“I’m sorry,” Faramir whispered. “I did not mean to taint your joyous day with my dark mood. That was why I tried to stay away, lest I ruin your happiness.”

Aragorn could take no more. Boldly, he stepped towards Faramir, and draped his arm around his shoulder. To the untrained eye, it seemed a friendly, brotherly gesture. But as Faramir molded himself to Aragorn, side pressing against side, it became a secretly intimate touch between the lovers.

“You have ruined nothing, my fair one,” Aragorn murmured, squeezing Faramir’s shoulder. “It is I who regrets that my joy must cause you so much pain.”

Faramir shook his head. “It is not your happiness that hurts me, Aragorn,” he sighed, and met Aragorn’s grey eyes. “For I love you, and begrudge you nothing.”

Aragorn swallowed hard, fighting the urge to kiss the frown from Faramir’s lips. “If I could bring her back for you, I would.” He said. “I would have you know the same contentment I know. But all I can offer is what I have given, which is my own love, and a name-bond with my first-born son.”

“You are more than generous on both counts, my king.” Faramir, too, looked as if he were resisting leaning in to Aragorn further, his eyes locked upon his lips. “And you, above all others, have given me greater happiness than any other person ever has.”

“Will you not come back in, then?” Aragorn nodded back towards the Citadel, “Will you not let yourself be happy with what you have before you, rather than stand here alone and dwell upon what you have lost?” Aragorn searched Faramir’s eyes. “There will be other days to reflect and to mourn. Today is a day for celebration, for new beginnings. Do not deny yourself that.”

Faramir thought for a long moment, his eyes charting the stars in the sky. Finally, he nodded. “I will. For you, for my queen, and for my name-son.” He met Aragorn’s eyes once again, and smiled shyly, genuinely. “For my new family.”

Aragorn’s heart swelled, and he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Faramir’s forehead. “Come then. They await you, name-father.”

He led Faramir back inside and through the rejoicing crowd, refusing to let go of his beloved’s shoulder. Today, of all days, their affection would be accepted, encouraged even. He would take advantage of it.

“Is all well?” Arwen asked when they returned to their place at the head table. She reached both hands out, one to each man. Aragorn clasped her slender fingers without hesitation, but it still took Faramir a few moments before he did so. He bowed at the shoulder, and pressed her hand to his lips briefly.

“Indeed, my lady queen.” Faramir answered, meeting her eyes with a soft smile.  “All is well.”

Though Aragorn let his heart be gladdened by Faramir’s words, deep down he was troubled. No, all was not well. Faramir’s pain, his fear, was well justified. Fourteen centuries of his family’s line—spanning back to the days of Númenór—could easily disappear with him. It was an enormous burden for Faramir to bear, one that should not have fallen upon him.

Many things had come to pass that should not have, though, and this could well be one more quiet casualty of the war. Aragorn could do little to help, though. He could only offer his support, his love, and his earnest hope that one day Faramir would again find his own lady-love, be it in the return of his wife, or in the blossoming of a new romance—even if it cost Aragorn the happiness he’d found with his prince.

The thought sent a pang through Aragorn, and he brushed it away by bringing himself back to the present. He would not dwell on things he could not change today, on choices he did not yet have to make. Today, Aragorn had all he had ever desired: his dear Arwen at his side, a fine and hale son, and Faramir’s friendship and love. Today was a day of celebration.

Though he could not bind himself to Faramir in any sort of open commitment, choosing him as Eldarion’s name-father bound him to Aragorn’s family. It was not a marriage, not his own heir, but it was what Aragorn could do for his beloved. And judging by the shy smile on Faramir’s face as Arwen placed the babe in his arms, it was enough—for today.


End file.
